


Snow Day

by Jael



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Leonard Snart Lives, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn Over the Course of a Day, Snow Day, Snowball Fight, Snowed In, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, admitting feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael
Summary: Leonard and Sara get snowed in while on a mission. Ridiculous domesticity and tooth-rotting fluff ensue.
Relationships: CaptainCanary - Relationship, Sara Lance/Leonard Snart
Comments: 29
Kudos: 66





	Snow Day

**Author's Note:**

> Pure fluff. You've been warned. I started this last week when we got a foot of snow dumped on us, and it was supposed to be short. Ha.
> 
> Unbeta'ed at this point. All mistakes are mine.

Sara wakes to the scrape of a snow shovel.

It’s such an ordinary, homey sort of noise that it takes her a moment to register just what it is…and then to register where she is—wrapped up in a warm, soft blanket and curled up on a comfortable old couch. She’d insisted that Leonard take the bed in the other room, she recalls fuzzily, stretching, because there’s no way he’d have fit comfortably here.

It still makes her pause, thinking that name. Leonard.

Back from the Oculus. Alive and whole and just as infuriating as ever.

They’re in a safehouse in Nickel City, in a nice residential area, one of Len’s that he’s apparently kept up over the years. Something she’s very glad for now, because the Waverider hadn’t picked them up when it was supposed to yesterday, and an early season batch of snow had hit the area right about the same time.

The out-of-time book they’d lifted from the library of the local science museum—full of details about technologies that hadn’t even been invented yet, if anyone could manage to read more than a few pages of the damned thing—was small, fortunately, and Sara had wrapped it up and stuffed it in a pocket as Leonard had ventured to find a particularly intrepid cab driver.

She’d halfway expected them to go to a local hotel—and she hadn’t been quite sure how she’d felt about that. It’d been both intriguing and a little disappointing to stop briefly at a convenience store and then be dropped off at this small, neat house, with no worries about getting stuck in a single room with, say, only one place to sleep.

OK. Maybe more than a little disappointing, if she’s being honest with herself.

They’re still circling around each other, more or less, since his return. Sara’s rough breakup with Ava has her more cautious than ever, and Leonard is…Leonard. It seems like they’ve just mutually decided that, while they’re friends, that “me and you” conversation never happened.

And maybe that’s for the best?

But Sara doesn’t want to pick that question over again—she’d done it enough the night before, staring up at the living room ceiling and thinking back over what seemed to be every interaction they’d ever had. After a moment, she sits up, stretching again and shivering as she lets the blanket fall away. Leonard had turned the heat up in the house last night, but it’s unseasonably freezing out, and she’d passed out in the same snow-sodden jeans and top she’d been wearing last night.

Len had put some clothing on a nearby chair, clearing his throat and then diffidently pointing it out, but Sara had pretended she hadn’t noticed. It just seemed a little too…intimate.

Now, however, she’s regretting that, although at least it means she can change after a shower. Wincing at the feel of bare feet on cold hardwood and then colder tile, Sara pads uncertainly toward the kitchen, peeking in there and then checking the bathroom downstairs. No Leonard.

The downstairs bedroom door is ajar, but though she listens, there’s no sign of anyone in there. In fact, instinct and training tell her there’s no one else in the house at all.

Sara spins and goes back toward the living room, disbelieving.

But when she peers outside, blinking as she realizes the amount of snow that had fallen overnight, she finds it’s true.

Leonard, crook and thief, Legend and hero, is outside. Shoveling. Shoulders hunched against the cold, parka hood pulled up, laboriously pitching loads of snow to the side as he makes his way down the sidewalk. There are a few others out in other yards in the neighborhood, most with shovels and a few with snowblowers, and it’s still snowing lightly, fat flakes drifting slowly through the air.

Sara watches him a moment, struck by the impulse to go help—one that fades as she realizes she’s not really prepared for the conditions. Hell, it’s only mid-November, and though Nickel City’s known for snow, she hadn’t expected this.

So, after another moment, she turns and heads back to the kitchen. There’s something else she can do.

She’s not sure just how long it is before she hears the front door open, the small entryway there keeping a blast of cold air from entering the house proper, though tendrils definitely do drift into the warmer kitchen. Sara, amused at domesticity, putters a little more as she hears Leonard pause to presumably remove coat and boots, then heads that way, a mug in each hand, as the inner door opens.

She stops in her tracks as her partner in this mission looks over at her.

Leonard Snart, clad in a royal blue sweater and stocking feet, with actual pink cheeks and snowflakes on his eyelashes, is _adorable_.

Not that she’ll say that.

Not that her brain seems to want to say _anything_.

Leonard eyes her a moment, then lifts an eyebrow, a slow smirk drifting on to his face at her apparent speechlessness. “You OK there, Captain?” he drawls, taking a step forward. “You seem a bit…frozen.”

He’s always calling her “Captain” now and she _hates_ it. Between that and the truly awful pun (oh, she’s probably in for a bunch of those now), Sara breaks her frozen (sigh) moment and rolls her eyes at him, extending one of the mugs. (The one with “World’s Okayest Brother” on the side, much to her amusement.)

“Coffee,” she tells him. “With sugar. Figured you might want to warm up.”

She halfway expects Snart innuendo at that…but they’re not doing that anymore. Leonard’s eyes flicker briefly as he accepts it—as if, perhaps, he’d thought the same thing—but he merely murmurs a sincere-sounding thanks and takes a long sip.

Then he glances over at her mug—emblazoned with the words “Probably booze”—and smirks a little.

“That one’s Mick’s,” he says offhandedly, taking another drink. “And Lisa’s should be in there, too.”

Oh. That’s more…personal…then she’d expected this place to be. Sara resists the urge to look around again and thinks back to the cupboard, chuckling. “The gold one, of course.”

“With the words ‘Girl Boss,’ yes.” They trade a smile and then Leonard clears his throat, glancing back over his shoulder.

“It’s starting to come down a little harder again,” he says with a sigh. “But that should do for now.” He registers the somewhat dubious look on her face and shrugs. “Normally I have a service keep an eye on the place, but they still weren’t here yet, and the last thing I want is the neighbors calling attention to us. They’re usually OK, but I don’t know if there’s anyone new in the neighborhood.”

With that remarkable statement, which leaves Sara blinking again, Len turns toward the kitchen, heading that way and tossing a “Sleep OK?” over his shoulder.

“I…yes.” Sara drifts after him, looking around with new eyes. She’d been too cold and tired last night to register much, but the house is comfortable, though rather outdated. She hasn’t seen the upstairs, but the place seems to be in good repair.

Leonard’s still speaking quietly as he sits his mug down on the small kitchen island and opens the fridge, which Sara knows only contains what he’d picked up last night. “Used to have tenants but haven’t been around enough to find new ones after the last folks moved out,” he observes, studying the contents. “Gotta admit, don’t really have the heart to get rid of it.”

Sara opens her mouth, then closes it, leaning against the island herself. Leonard’s so private that she really doesn’t want him to stop talking, but asking questions seems like a likely way to guarantee that.

He notices. Of course he does. Those sharp blue eyes glance her way again, and a wry smile flickers across his face before he looks back at the fridge.

“It was my grandparents’,” he admits, very quietly. “My mom’s parents. Once.”

Oh. Sara nods, because she’s not sure what else to say. Definitely not right to admit that it’s hard to imagine Leonard as anything other than springing fully formed from the black heart of Lewis Snart, mythlike, just to be his antithesis in so many ways. He must have had a mother. And grandparents. Once.

But it seems that Len is done with that line of conversation, because he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs and a bag of shredded cheese. “Omelet?”

“Yes, please.”

Sara and her inability to cook anything other than absolute basics are an ongoing Waverider joke for good reason, so she takes herself off to the bathroom while Len gets out a frying pan, figuring she’ll just stay out of his way.

He’d also grabbed some soap, two toothbrushes, toothpaste, and a brush at the store, that last undoubtedly for her, and Sara finds it unexpectedly touching. She also spends a little too much time staring at the blue and white toothbrushes, side by side on the counter, thinking about Leonard, and Ava, and “normal” and…

And then she brushes her teeth, washes her face, and pulls that brush through her hair, shoving all the thoughts away.

The house smells amazing, and Sara follows her nose to the kitchen, pausing as she sees Leonard sliding an omelet onto a plate, next to a matching one. He puts the pan down and gives her an inquiring look, and she nods, walking over and pouring more coffee for both of them. She picks up the mugs as Len gathers the plates and follows him out to the side of the living room that seems to serve as a dining area, judging from the long, slightly battered table there.

They eat in silence. The eggs are fairly plain…well, convenience stores aren’t known for their wide array of produce or anything, really…but he’s used some sort of seasoning in them and the cheese adds a tasty richness. Really, they hit the spot, and Sara scrapes the last bit of slightly browned cheese off the plate with a contented sigh, finally lifting her eyes to Leonard with a small smile.

“Thank you,” she says simply, then pokes her fork at him with a grin. “I didn’t know you were such a good cook. You’re not going to avoid kitchen duty from now on.”

Leonard smirks at her, putting down his own fork. “We’ll see,” he shoots back, humor in his tone. Sara watches as he arranges those gorgeous, fine-boned hands in front of him on the table, looking down at them a moment.

He looks so serious that Sara smiles, and then loses that smile, wondering just what he’s thinking.

They’d been so tired last night that there’d only been momentarily awkwardness about who would sleep where. No consideration of…sparks, or “me or you,” or…

“So, Mick…” she says hastily, looking down, and away from those alluring hands.

“Knows about this place, yes,” she hears Leonard say after a moment. “He’ll figure I…we…went to ground here when they were delayed.”

“Good.” Sara sighs. “I wish the comms were working.”

A pause. Then: “They’ll be OK,” she hears Leonard observe. “You know Gideon bitches about flying in snow. If they couldn’t just skip ahead a few days, they might just be waiting it out.”

Sara snorts, finally looking back up at him. “Antiaircraft fire, she doesn’t mind,” she notes with amusement. “A meteor shower? She can handle it. Snow? Complaining for _days_.”

They trade smiles, and then Leonard sighs, getting to his feet and picking up his plate. “I’d show you the city,” he says, glancing out the window, “but I think I think it’s probably better to stay put.”

Sara looks too, biting her lip when she realizing the wind has whipped both falling snow and the stuff on the ground up into a near-whiteout. “Probably,” she agrees, looking back at him. “Do we need anything?”

“Can’t say I was able to grab an incredible variety of stuff last night but should be OK.” Len eyes her a moment, then jerks his head at the clothing on the chair where he’d left it last night. “That’s some of Lisa’s stuff that was in storage. Go ahead, Sara. Get warm.”

And with those words, he heads off to the kitchen with the plates, leaving Sara looking after him, realizing that for one of the first times since his return, he’d finally used her name.

* * *

The hot shower feels heavenly, and Lisa Snart’s clothing—actually a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie—actually fits pretty well. Sara rolls up the pants a little, gathers up her old clothing and ventures out, pausing as she sees Len standing at the front window, looking outside.

Where the near-whiteout is now completely a whiteout.

“Yuck,” she says after a moment, moving closer and joining him. “Glad we’re not out there.”

“Indeed.” Leonard frowns at the view, then steps back, pulling the curtains closed. “So much for all that shoveling.”

“I’ll help you with it later.”

“We’ll see.”

“You’re just afraid I’ll beat your ass in a snowball fight, Snart.” The words emerge before Sara can stop them. But when she sees how Leonard’s eyes widen and then narrow, one of those sly smiles settling on his lips, she can’t regret it.

“Really?” he drawls, turning toward her. “Me? The actual Captain Cold?”

Sara snorts, folding her arms. “Think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“You _know _it...” But abruptly, he seems to catch himself, as they start to slide into the familiar flirting banter. Sara can almost see him take a metaphorical step back and a deep breath, and she wants to tell him not to stop, but it’s probably better this way and who is she to...

But Len’s looking away now, face carefully blank, and the moment’s passed.

“There’s some reading material upstairs,” he tells her. “In the spare room, first one on the left. Not much, but maybe you can find something to pass the time.”

He’s gone before she can ask what he plans to do.

* * *

It’s interesting what Leonard thinks is “not much” when it comes to reading material. There’s a bookshelf full of paperbacks in the spare room, along with an old rolltop desk and some storage containers. Sara selects a romance novel that doesn’t look too trashy (trying not to smile as she imagines Leonard reading it), resists the urge to peek in the containers or desk, and goes back to the hallway—and then promptly can’t resist seeing what the other three doorways lead to.

One’s another bathroom, spartan and clean. The others are bedrooms, just as plain and relatively without furnishings or personality. Sara supposes that if there have been tenants here, that’s not so surprising. Quietly, she moves back downstairs, going to the kitchen to get a drink of water.

Then, on her way to the living room, she stops in front of the door to the room in which Len’s staying, the one he’s apparently in right now. And she nearly lifts her hand to knock.

She doesn’t. She goes back to the living room. And she curls up with her novel and her regrets.

For a while anyway.

The book, apparently an old library sale item, actually isn’t bad. The heroine is scrappy and not all inclined to fall right into bed with the man who’s apparently the hero…though he’s actually a Robin-Hoodish sort of character, not without a roguish side.

The irony…does not escape Sara. And once she’s reached the part where the pair finally _talk_—admitting that they actually don’t despise each other and maybe, just maybe, might be starting to like each other— she puts the novel down and stares thoughtfully at the haze of white visible between the curtains.

And then she gets up and goes to knock on Len’s door.

“I know you’re in there, Snart,” she calls as she does so. “C’mon. Don’t you have any cards around here? It’s too quiet. And I…I would like the company.”

There’s a pause, and Sara very nearly holds her breath. But then the door swings open, revealing the crook in question, leaning against the doorjamb and giving her the slightest glimpse of the bedroom behind him.

“Might,” he admits after they stare at each other a few minutes, dipping his head and studying her. “If you want to play.”

They haven’t, really, since his return. Sara had initiated a few games, but it’d seemed they were always getting interrupted by her duties as captain and eventually she’d just…stopped trying. And Leonard hadn’t bothered to try to approach her on his own, so she’d taken that as a sign.

“Yes,” though, is all she says now, watching him. “Please.”

She gets a closer look at the room then as he turns back toward a scarred wooden dresser, glimpsing a bed. It’s not huge, maybe a full, covered with a slightly threadbare, faded comforter, one with…she smiles to realize…dinosaurs on it. The sort of thing a young boy might have, in a guest room at a grandparent’s house.

Len turns back from rummaging in the dresser with a deck of cards in his hand, and Sara sees a slight, uncharacteristically soft smile cross his face as he registers where she’s looking.

But he doesn’t say anything. He just waves the deck at her in a gesture that very nearly gives her a flashback to _that_ time on the Waverider, motioning her toward the living room when she nods.

The wind’s howling so loudly now that it’s shaking the windows and Sara shivers despite herself. Leonard stalks over to the window and looks out again, shaking his head with an annoyed huff, then strolling back to collapse onto the couch, rifling through the cards and glancing at Sara out of the corner of his eye. As if he thinks she’ll change her mind.

Sara merely joins him, sitting on the other end of the couch and pulling her feet up under her. “Gin?” she asks.

“Gin it is.”

* * *

They don’t talk while they play, not like they once did. But gradually they both relax, just a little more, into something that resembles those early days on the Waverider, after they’d first started playing cards and hanging out, and before Chronos and the League and…and feelings.

And Sara’s much cannier about certain things, now. Like teammates who cheat at cards.

Leonard wins the first game, but Sara wins the second, beaming at him while he eyes his cards, obviously wondering what’s changed. But he seems to dismiss it with a nonchalant shrug, lifting his gaze to Sara again.

“Another game?” he asks smoothly, picking up the cards. “Or lunch?”

Sara considers, then shrugs herself. “Not particularly hungry,” she admits, “but I wouldn’t mind a snack.” She continues hastily as part of her brain reminds that Len is, by certain definitions, definitely a _snack_. “And…is that TV working?”

The device is old enough to be from the early years of flatscreens, but it seems to be in decent repair. Still, Len glances over at it and shakes his head with an air of regret.

“No service active,” he says. “Don’t even have an old pair of rabbit ears. But…hmm…”

He gets to his feet, strolling across the room to a cabinet, which he opens and starts inspecting. Sara follows, wondering, then smiles as she realizes what he’s looking at.

“Are those…VHS tapes?” she asks with delight.

“And DVDs. I think that player’s a lot more likely to work.” Len stoops to pull out a dusty model of the device in question from the bottom of the cabinet, along with the associated cords. “Take a look. I’ll see if I can get this connected.”

So she does, studying an array of mostly 1980s and 1990s classics, trying not to imagine a younger Leonard stashing away a collection here or an even younger one sitting in front of a more old-fashioned TV with his grandparents. She’s still pondering selections when she hears a satisfied noise from behind her and hears Len getting to his feet.

“Bingo,” he drawls. “That should do it.”

Sara smirks at the pride in his voice. “Excellent,” she says, putting her first choice down…for now…and turning to show him her second. “How’s this one?”

Leonard looks…and lets out a startled laugh, an actual laugh, paired with an actual grin, one that lights up his eyes and makes him look so far from his polished image as Captain Cold that Sara blinks.

“Perfect snow day movie,” he tells her drily, the smile still hovering on his face. “I suppose I’m just lucky you didn’t pick _Land Before Time_. That’s in there somewhere…Lisa loved it as a kid.”

“Oooh…I was about 2 when that movie came out.”

“Precisely.”

It turns out that there’d been microwave popcorn in the things Leonard had grabbed in the convenience store, so Sara pops a bag of that while he tinkers with the TV a bit more. She emerges into the living room, bowl in hand, just in time to see Len plop down on the couch in a rare distinctly nongraceful move, long legs stretched out before him.

There’s plenty of room besides him. But…

Len sees her hesitating. But, instead of going blank and then moving, or pulling his tall frame back into an even smaller portion of the couch, this time he sighs.

“I don’t bite,” he says somewhat wearily, though then he smirks. “I mean, unless you…”

Sara blinks…but then his mouth snaps shut. He glances away, and she can see him pull into himself again, subtle but unmistakable.

Sara bites her lip, torn, but then suddenly…she’s had enough. She misses Leonard. The old Leonard, the flirt and the smartass, the one who…

“I miss that,” she blurts out, suddenly.

Leonard eyes her, and Sara sees surprise there. “What…”

“The flirting,” she tells him recklessly. “The banter. I miss it. Why did you…” But then she stops too, sighing. “Sorry.”

A long pause, during which Sara rethinks pretty much all her life choices.

But then Len simply starts the movie, nodding his head toward his left, and Sara pauses only a moment before subsiding into the couch next to him, pulling her feet up under her again and trying not lean against the man next to her.

And then the John Williams score starts to echo through the room. And voices.

_“Everybody, heads up! Heads up! Keep it clear! Keep it clear!”_

“Why,” Sara murmurs as things start to go horribly wrong on Isla Nublar, “would anyone _ever_ think bringing back dinosaurs was a good idea?”

“What, you never wanted to see a T. Rex?” Len reaches out to grab a handful of popcorn, hand brushing hers.

“I have, actually. Now.”

A moment of silence. “Wait…what?”

“Seriously, Ray never told you about that? Well, there were a few times…”

And they talk. Heaven help her, they finally talk, sliding into conversation as easily as ever. Sara’d been so very hesitant to remind Len of all the time he’d missed, but it’s intrinsically different when he’s asking about it.

They do shy away from the topic of the Legion. Sara already knows, via Mick, that that’s a very sore subject indeed. At that point, anyway, they actually do pay some attention to the movie, agreeing that Jeff Goldblum is yummy, and disagreeing slightly over whether Hammond is a tragic figure or simply a very foolish one.

By the time the closing music starts, Sara realizes that she’s been leaning against Len’s shoulder for a while. She sits up abruptly, cleaning her throat, then gets up and walks over to the window, peering outside again.

It’s actually stopped snowing, though the clouds still look like it could restart at any time, and the chill is palpable inches away from the glass. Sara shivers, wrapping her arms around herself and taking a step back.

Right into a warm pair of arms.

Leonard’s grasp tightens just a second…and then he lowers his arms and steps away, to both Sara’s disappointment and relief. The former for obvious reasons, the latter because…because…

Len clears his throat. “I’m going to go clear a little more of that snow. While it’s died down. Because if Mick gets here and it’s like this…”

Oh shit, she’d never even thought of that. “Heat gun might be effective, but it isn’t actually subtle. And if you want to keep this place…”

“I do.” Leonard’s already reached out to claim the gloves he’d placed on an old-fashioned radiator earlier. “Might take a while. I’ll be…”

“I’m coming with you. I want some fresh air.”

He blinks, then frowns at her. “You don’t even have a winter coat…”

“Well, I bet there’s one here, somewhere, right? If you were able to pull out these clothes for me, I bet Lisa has one stowed away.” Sara nods decisively, amused at the play of thoughts on Len’s face. “C’mon. I’m going to do this one way or another…and it’s in your best interest to help me.”

She watches him register that…and wonder how to take it. “Might take a few minutes. To find.”

“Then you better get looking,” Sara looks back and studies the window. “Could start up again at any time.”

Leonard shrugs…and heads for the staircase. Sara allows herself a grin.

He’s back far sooner than his earlier words would allow, bearing a pale blue, down-filled jacket and black boots, both in pretty much Sara’s size. The gloves he tosses her are men’s and rather big, but they’ll do, and the jacket has a hood.

So, Sara suits up with determination, and then follows Leonard out into the cold.

And it is _cold_. It’s cold even when the air is still, and when the air stirs at all, it’s absolutely brutal. Sara just stands a moment at first, letting the confines of her hood and her own exhalations warm the air around her face before she finally takes a deeper breath, then another, and looks around to see what Leonard’s gotten up to.

He’s retrieved a snow shovel from somewhere and is working his way methodically down the walkway from the house to the sidewalk. There’s rather a lot more snow than there was earlier, but it seems to be at least the semi-fluffy variety of snow, rather than the heavy, wet stuff, and the going doesn’t seem to be too bad.

There’s not another shovel around. Sara shrugs philosophically and continues to stand there, watching her breath and then watching Leonard shovel. He’s always seemed such a creature of Central City, with its more moderate climate and highly urban vibe, that it’s a little odd to see him here—and yet not at all. Interesting realization, to think that the man called Captain Cold also had his origins in this city of snow.

He’s wearing some sort of sweats instead of his usual jeans, impossible not to notice as he bends over to scoop up more snow. Still—Sara smirks a little, watching—it’s a nice view.

Something’s shifted, she finally lets herself think, standing in the chill air with snow starting to drift down around them again. A thaw, ironically. Sara’s been completely unable to keep up her façade of not caring about Len, and she’s starting to realize—she hopes—that he feels the same.

But the question is, does she feel up to revisiting that “me and you?” Does he? Does he even want to? Or…

Sara leans down and scoops up a gloveful of snow. She is, she decides for the moment, thinking too much.

And she has a very alluring target.

Leonard’s pretty much cleared at least a pathway, and he’s paused too, turning away from her and watching the street and then the sky, still thick with the sort of heavy gray clouds that mean more snow’s almost certainly on the way. Wondering, maybe, when the others will return.

Well. They’re not here yet.

Sara’s snowball hits Len right in the ass.

He jumps and then whips around, scanning the yard, eyes narrowed. Sara, who already has another snowball ready, fires it at him, catching him in the shoulder before he can even dodge. The snowball disintegrates, sending a powdery spray of snow over his face, and she laughs despite herself at the startled expression.

Then she stops laughing. Because Leonard, snow still frosting the scruff on his jaw, is heading directly for her, determination in his eyes.

Crap.

Sara holds her hands up, backpedaling a little though she really has nowhere to go. “Now, don’t be hasty. I was just…”

The snowball—which is, at least, very soft-packed, gets her in the nose. Captain Cold does _not_ mess around.

Sara sputters, wiping snow out of her face, and opens her eyes just in time to blink at how close he is…and to squawk as hands close around her hips, picking her up easily and…

Oh, hell, no.

Sara, laughing hysterically despite herself, lands in the snowbank, Leonard overbalancing and falling with her with an “oof!” She’s still catching her breath as he struggles vaguely upright, shifting in the snow, and props himself a little more upright, leaning over and smirking down at her.

Looking that very particular and gorgeous mix of sexy as hell and absolutely adorable. Snow in his hair and eyelashes and ruddy cheeks, smirk firmly in place and blue gaze fixed steadfastly on her own.

Sara stops laughing.

“Um,” she says, wisely, as Len leans closer.

His parka hood’s fallen forward again, shading not only him but her from the world around them. Everything seems still, and Sara, feeling like the world is very distant, lifts a hand, still in its too-big glove, to brush against his jaw.

“Sara,” he says quietly.

There’s a lot to unpack in that quiet word.

And Sara realizes, quite abruptly, that she’s not up for it at the moment. Not with snowmelt working its way under her jacket and the wind starting to whistle overhead again.

“Len,” she acknowledges, just as quietly—and then she wraps a leg around him and rolls them both over, sending him into fresh snow with another “oof.”

Sara pauses only a moment, hands braced on Len’s chest while she meets those startled blue eyes again, trying to convey that this is far more a “later” than a “no,” then gets to her feet, shaking snow out of her coat with a murmured “ugh.”

“You started it.” To her great relief, Leonard sounds more amused than anything else as he gets to his feet too.

There’s no good way to respond to that. So Sara falls back on immaturity completely unbefitting a timeship captain, sticking her tongue out and making a face before turning away and heading back toward the house.

To her immense pleasure, a very quiet and utterly suggestive comment follows her.

* * *

Leonard finds them both a change of clothes while he tosses both their original outfits and the snowmelt-sodden newer ones into the dryer. The snow’s picked up again, because of course it has, and Sara looks briefly through the movies again while he’s doing so, wondering abstractly what they might do for dinner.

A few minutes later, she hears the distinctive _beep_ of a preheated oven and blinks.

She strolls into the kitchen just in time to see Leonard sliding a frozen lasagna into the oven. He’s actually wearing oven mitts. And there’s a loaf of garlic bread, still in wrapper, on the island with an empty salad bowl.

The crook catches her expression and snorts. “What?”

“This is just so damned…”

“Domestic?” The word is drawled, loaded with amusement and something just a little sharper. Len takes the oven mitts off and tosses them onto the table, picking up the garlic bread to read the package. “You know, I did keep Lisa and Mick fed when they both would had fallen back on McD’s every single day.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. It’s just…” _Nice_, she was about to say. “What can I do to help?”

“There’s a bag of salad in the crisper with a store-brand dressing. Doesn’t look great, but it was the best sort of produce they had.”

“I can handle that.”

“Thanks.”

So, she washes the lettuce and dries it—picking out wilted pieces because Len was right—adding it to the bowl as he readies the garlic bread and slide it in the oven too.

Sara put the salad back in the fridge and studies Leonard as he leans against the island and watches her.

“How long is this storm supposed to last?” she asks tentatively. “Any idea? I mean, we didn’t know it was coming anyway, so…”

Len shrugs. “It was unexpected,” he allows. “So say the neighbors.” He pulls out his phone and glances down at it as Sara digests the notion of Leonard trading small talk with his neighbors like any homeowner. “Looks like it’s supposed to snow all night and fade in the morning.”

“Ah.” Unlikely, then, that the Waverider will return before then. Sara tries to push any and all possibilities out of her head and nods, glancing around the kitchen.

“So…this was your grandparents’ house,” she says impulsively. “Did you stay here? When you were a kid?”

A pause, and then Len nods.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing around himself. “A good bit of time, actually, when my…when Lewis was in prison that first time.”

The time Leonard had tried to change, back in 1975, Sara knows.

“Actually went to school here a bit,” Leonard says then, walking to a window and looking out at a view that’s sheer white again. “I liked it. I wasn’t ‘that dirty cop’s brat’ here.” He pauses. “Especially after Lisa was born, my grandparents tried to get my mom to move here. It…didn’t take.”

Sara bites her lip, knowing he can’t see her. “You inherited the house.”

“Mmhmm.” He turns back around, studying her. “Lisa, Mick and I…we’ve holed up here from time. Central is home, but I…have a fondness for this place.”

Sara smiles at him. “Despite the snow?”

“Or because of it.”

* * *

Sara sets the table, still amused by domesticity. She finds two dusty pillar candles in the cupboard, thinks briefly and fondly of Mick, and then takes them out too, wiping them down and putting them out on the table too.

Then she realizes that she has no way to light them.

She’s considering that when she hears Leonard step up behind her and smells fresh lasagna. And then she hears a faint chuckle as he moves past and sits the pan down on a pad on the table.

“I think Mick left a lighter here at some point,” she hears. “Just a sec.”

In the meantime, Sara shrugs and returns to the kitchen, bringing out the salad and then returning for the garlic bread, turning off the oven as she does.

When she returns, Len’s already there, lighting the candles with an old lighter. There’s not really any light coming in the windows, the shadows flicker, and the atmosphere is undeniably…OK, it’s romantic. Sara bites her lip again, then takes a seat, waiting as he does too.

They dine in candlelight, mostly silently. The lasagna, frozen or not, is pretty good, and so are the salad and bread. Sara’s quite comfortably full on carbs before she stops, sighing contently, and regards the man across the table.

“Thank you.”

Len lifts an eyebrow at her. “For…?”

“This.” This…interlude. This peace. This chance.

He nods, meeting her eyes.

That’s all they need. For now.

* * *

They wash the dishes together, mostly silently, washing and drying in companionable quiet, and it’s well into evening by the time they’re done. Sara leaves Leonard to put the last of the dishes away and drifts into the living room, which is still lit by candlelight. She picks up her original movie pick and considers.

She’s not sure what she’s doing here. But all she knows is that she’s…not willing to just let this chance go.

When Leonard rejoins her, Sara holds up the DVD, and he chuckles.

“Oh,” he says, carefully, reaching out to take it from her, “that’s a good one.”

“Yeah?” Sara lifts an eye at him. “Been a long time since I’ve seen it. I mean, Marian should have been a lot more badass.”

“True.” Len looks at her through his lashes. “An archer in her own right?”

“Of course.”

“Still with a…fondness…for thieves, of course.” His voice is low. Intense. Hopeful?

“Of course,” Sara repeats. “Of course.”

* * *

They don’t put the movie in right away. Len goes downstairs to check on the clothing, while Sara drifts back to the kitchen. Earlier, she’d noticed a box of hot cocoa mix on the counter, and a quick look confirms that it’s fresh. It only takes a moment of poking around to find a small saucepan, and she impulsively grabs the remainder of the quart of milk in the fridge. She’ll drink her coffee black tomorrow if she needs to.

By the time Len returns, Sara is ladling up two mugs of hot coca. She hears him chuckle before she sees him, but she definitely does feel him move up behind her, standing close, one hand brushing her hip as he reaches around to set a bottle down on the counter.

“Guess the last tenants were either really honest or just teetotalers,” he says in her ear. “The liquor cabinet downstairs was untouched.”

Sara reaches out to pick up the bottle of peppermint schnapps herself, shivering at the feel of warm breath. “Mmm. This will be perfect in cocoa.”

“Great minds…”

For a moment, Sara thinks he’s going to kiss her neck, and she closes her eyes, shivering again in anticipation. But then he steps back, fingers brushing her hip again, and she tries to conceal a sigh.

“I’ll put the movie in,” Len says quietly, and vanishes.

The bottle is still sealed. Sara gets it open and adds a healthy dose of the booze to each mug. Then she takes a deep breath and carries them both out to the living room.

The DVD start screen is up on the TV, and Len’s on the couch, those long legs stretched out before him again.

Sara sets his mug down on the end table next to him, then moves around to the couch. But instead of merely taking a seat, she studies him a moment, then shakes her head.

“That doesn’t look that comfortable,” she points out. “C’mon, Len. I won’t bite.” A pause. “Unless you _ask_.”

The echo and the joking innuendo get her a smile, but Leonard regards her a long moment with still-serious dark eyes. And then he shifts sideways a little, arranging himself on the couch, watching her.

Sara’s already moving toward him, settling down in front of him with a sigh, sprawled out herself, her back against his front, her head resting back against his chest.

“OK?” she asks, trying not to sound uncertain, her hands wrapped around her own mug.

Leonard’s hand settles at her hip. “Mmhm.”

And he starts the movie.

It’s not quite as good as Sara remembers: a little dated, a little cheesy. But it’s entertaining nonetheless, and Len keeps making amusing, snarky comments in her ear and nitpicking the heist planning, and Sara chimes in with comments on poor archery form. It’s almost enough to distract her from how close they are, how cozy it is, how Leonard’s thumb is gently rubbing her hip.

Oh, who the hell is she kidding? It’s not nearly enough to distract her.

And she doesn’t really want to be distracted.

Sara can’t see outside, but by the howl of the wind, the storm’s picked up again. The outlaw base has just been destroyed and Robin presumed dead when the power first flickers, and Sara holds her breath, wondering if it’s going to go out.

But that’s it for a while. It doesn’t flicker again until the day of the sheriff and Marian’s wedding, but then, it does so three times in a row.

And then, with a gust of wind that shakes the windows, the power goes out. The TV goes dark and silent. The room’s only lit by the two flickering candles.

Inside, there’s silence for a moment. Sara squirms around a little, looking up at Leonard, wondering if there’s something they should do. But any and all words fly very quickly right out of her head.

He’s looking down at her. Expression serious. Eyes dark.

In the (tiny) part of her brain that’s still thinking logically, Sara wonders if she should say something. Tell him, in the direct way she hadn’t tried before, just how much she’d missed him. How much she’d regretted her challenge at the Vanishing Point. How happy she was to have him back.

But she can’t seem to get the words out.

Leonard isn’t speaking either. But one of his hands comes up, then, and it rests against her jaw, and Sara closes her eyes with a long sigh, leaning into the touch before opening them again.

And Len leans down, slowly, blue eyes searching hers the whole way, long fingers brushing her jaw…and kisses her.

It’s not like their first kiss. And it’s not like she’d ever really thought like it would be, kissing Leonard. It’s gentle, and it’s warm, and it’s slow, almost tentative. He tastes of cocoa and peppermint, rich and sweet, and, oh, she could do this _forever_.

Sara reaches up and winds her arms around his neck, letting the kiss deepen slowly as they lie there together in the dark, trying to convey all the things she hasn’t managed to say out loud. Leonard’s other hand has found its way around to the small of her back, and he holds her gently against him as they kiss.

Finally, though, they have to come up for air. Len breaks the kiss first, and while Sara makes a small, disconsolate noise, she also takes a deep breath, studying him, looking for any sign of regret.

She doesn’t find it.

“I thought you’d forgotten,” she says quietly. “Or…or changed your mind.”

Len studies her, still looking incredibly serious

“Never stopped wanting to steal that kiss,” he says carefully, after a moment. “But…things are different. Now. You’re the captain. I’m still…just the crook.” He shakes his head as Sara starts to protest. “And I know…I heard…you found someone…”

“Ah,” Sara sighs. “Ava.” She studies Leonard in returns. “Yes. And I loved her. But…Len, we weren’t quite right for each other. She wanted me to be something, someone, I wasn’t.”

She casts about for the words. “She wanted the captain. She didn’t want the assassin, the troublemaker, the vigilante underneath. And she didn’t understand why I didn’t want to put that part of myself away too. But it’s part of who I am, how I got here, to where I am.”

She shakes her head. “You…you liked the assassin. You got that I wanted to be better, but that that would always be a part of me. I missed that, Len. And I missed you. But I wasn’t sure you…well, wanted the captain. And I’m both, now.”

Leonard’s looking a bit less serious now, Sara notes suddenly. In fact, if that a smile?

“Well, then,” he says, in that drawl she’s missed so much. “I think we’re pretty much on the same page after all.”

Sara lets herself smile, too. “Oh?” she asks archly. “And what’s that page?”

Blue eyes gleam at her. Satisfaction and relief, affection and, yes, lust, shining in them, much to Sara’s pleasure.

“We both agree,” he says slowly, smugly, “that I’m one hell of a…”

Sara pulls his head back down to hers—and stops his mouth with a kiss.


End file.
